


Mirror, Mirror

by Louffox



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Carlos is worried, Cecil Whump, Cecil is Human, Eldritch Abomination Cecil, M/M, Mirrors, Mystery, Oblivious Carlos, before Cassette, or at least they think he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:06:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil comes over for the first time, and Carlos doesn't have his mirror covered. Neither of them expected this to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Cecil knows the mirrors around him must be covered at all times. All of Night Vale knows this- because it's very, VERY important. Except, of course, Carlos. Neither of them knew what would happen, and they really didn't want to find out this way.

            When Carlos began dating Cecil, he’d been honestly expecting to face some major hurdles. Things around Cecil were… strange. Stranger than usual, even for Night Vale. The radio station, for one, seemed more important and powerful than city council, and had a peculiar relationship with the secret police. Not to mention the fact that nearly all the interns died- so how had Cecil gotten the job? He was best friends with Old Woman Jose, who was a kind but fairly intimidating little woman, what with the garrison of angels she presided over. The eternal scouts were always extremely cordial to him, bowing their silent greetings whenever they passed (as they couldn’t speak, what with their mouths sewn shut and their lips, below the stitches, charred and flaky like half-burned coal) with respect. Hell, even the hooded figures never bothered him. On dot day, he was blushing and almost embarrassed at how many red dots he was covered in. And there was that mess with Telly the barber. If Night Vale was a universe unto itself (which Carlos often suspected it was) then Cecil was the epicenter, the vertex that pulled gravity in and put light out.

            But he found dating him to be oddly… normal. Aside from Cecil’s occasional weird wardrobe choices (usually only on special occasions- normally, Carlos found him dressed in black slacks or khakis, a button-up shirt, tie, and sweater vest) he was unnervingly… human. He ate normal foods, and ate normal amounts. He talked and laughed and experienced normal emotions. Carlos had expected- well, he wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t this. Glowing in the dark, fangs, extra eyes or limbs, witchcraft, _something_.

            So he thought he’d dodged the bullet the first time Cecil came to his apartment. It took a surprisingly long time for them to begin going to each other’s places of dwelling- both of them were fairly busy, and they usually met up over meals or at parks (normal ones, not the dog park, absolutely not) or at the waterfront with no water. They went bowling together every Thursday night, and Cecil was working to help Carlos improve. The radio host was ridiculously skilled, while the scientist was delighted when he didn’t get a gutter ball.

            Finally, one Thursday, as they turned their shoes back in, Carlos impulsively turned to Cecil.

            “Do you want to come over? We could watch a movie or something- I finally remembered to do the monthly smoke rituals to get Netflix,” he said, a bit nervous but deciding that he was ready to move to the next step and have a little bit more one-on-one time.

            “I would love to, Carlos,” Cecil said, beaming and leaning in to peck him on the cheek. “And well done, fitting that into your busy schedule- I know you’ve been dying to rewatch that show, the one about meeting the mother.”

            “How I Met Your Mother. But we won’t watch that, I’d rather watch a movie… I know! Of course! It’s not really a movie, but it’s delightful anyways. I think you would enjoy it. Have you ever seen Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog?” Carlos asked happily, linking hands as they walked out to their cars.

            “I don’t believe I have, but if you like it, it must be good,” Cecil said with a laugh. “I’ll meet you over at your apartment.”

            They took their cars over, parked, and Carlos unlocked the door, stepping in and turning on the lights. “You can put your jacket on the hook. Sorry it’s a bit untidy- this was a bit of a spontaneous decision, inviting you over,” he said, toeing off his shoes and immediately scooping a few mugs and a newspaper off the coffee table, taking them into the kitchen and putting them away. He sighed at the dishes in the sink- nothing to do about that now- and peeked in the bathroom and his bedroom to make sure those were in acceptable shape. His bed wasn’t made, but that was fine. He picked up the laundry from his floor and chucked it in his laundry basket, called it good, and went back to the living room for Cecil.

            His boyfriend was looking at a photo hanging on the wall, below a clock (that shouldn’t be functional to tell time but stubbornly did, regardless of that minor fact).

            “Is this your family?” Cecil asked, leaning over to study it, hands folded neatly behind his back.

            “Yes. My sisters, Emiline and Abigail, and my mother and father. Abigail lives up in Canada now, she’s a teacher and writer with about eight cats, and Emiline owns a bakery in Florida and has about eight kids,” he said. “I keep up with them with skype and email.”

            “They sound lovely. It looks like perfect hair runs in the family,” Cecil said, smiling at Carlos. The scientist pressed a kiss to his jaw and caught his hand, leading him over to the couch, where they sat down. He grabbed his remote and fussed with the TV for a minute before finding the short movie.

            “Do you want some popcorn?” Carlos asked before he started it. Cecil smiled.

            “Yes, please. And, where is your bathroom?”

            “Down the hall to the left. I’ll get this going,” Carlos said, standing and going to the kitchen while Cecil went to the bathroom. He was just pushing the buttons on the microwave when he heard a terrified cry.

            “Cecil?” Carlos called, looking toward the bathroom with alarm. “Are you okay?”

            There was no response.

            Carlos strode quickly down the call, concern increasing to fear, and turned the corner. The bathroom door was closed, and he knocked on it firmly.

            “Cecil? Is everything alright? Can I come in?”

            Again, nothing. So Carlos turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly.

            He only got a glimpse of something dark and… _writhing_ , before something hit the door and slammed it shut again, pushing him back forcefully. In an instant, he was back against the door again, hammering on it frantically and fighting with the doorknob.

            “Cecil! _Cecil!_ ” he cried, trying to open it fruitlessly. There was a banging and crashing from inside, like there were a dozen people inside, hitting and punching the walls without rhyme or reason. “ _CECIL_!”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>< 

            Carlos was sitting with his back to the door, knees up, elbows resting on his knees with his head down, hands buried in his own hair. His hands were red and aching from pounding on the door, fighting with the knob, trying to get to his boyfriend. The door wasn’t locked- he’d tried to pick it, and had eventually realized that wasn’t the problem. He’d found a crowbar and wrench and had taken the hinges off, but the door still refused to budge open- there was a force much stronger than he holding it closed. There were a few dents in the door from where he’d tried putting his foot through, then a chair, then the fire extinguisher, but again had been repelled.

He didn’t know what to do- there was no sort of 9-1-1 in Night Vale. Well, there sort of was, but it was currently locked in the bathroom, the source of the distress. The noises had stopped a while ago, and he’d heard a sort of muffled sobbing- which had caused him to renew his efforts, he was sure he’d at least sprained his ankle kicking at the door.

There was a soft sound behind him, and suddenly the door was loose and he almost fell in backwards, but managed to catch it and got to his feet, pushing the door (off its hinges so it just fell against the wall in the hallway) open and scrambling inside.

The bathroom was a disaster. Dents and cracks in the walls, like someone had taken at it with a baseball bat. Oddly enough, the mirror had taken no hits. Bottles of soap and towels had been thrown everywhere, and even the tiled floor had cracks.

Carlos couldn’t see the state of the shower, as the curtain was drawn, though he could see the shadow of a hunched figure sitting in the bottom.

“Cecil? Are you okay?” Carlos asked quickly, about to tear the curtain back.

“Carlos, don’t!” his boyfriend’s voice stopped him. Normally velvety and so in control, it now sounded raspy, like he’d been shouting (that had stopped after the first five minutes of the door being sealed) and broken, like he was in mourning. “Stop. Don’t come any closer.”

“What- Why not? Please, what happened here?” Carlos all but begged, frightened and overwhelmed with concern.

“You… You don’t have your mirror covered,” Cecil whispered fearfully.

“I- what? No, I don’t, why…?”

“Please cover it.”

Carlos stared bewilderedly at the shape behind the curtain for a moment, before taking a towel from the floor and carefully tucking it over the mirror, using a bottle of shampoo to hold the top down so it didn’t fall. Living in Night Vale had taught him that it was usually better to listen to Cecil.

“It’s covered. Can I… Can you come out now?”

“It’s really covered?”

“Yes. I promise.”

There was almost a full minute of silence, and then there was a small whimper. Carlos stepped forward again, clenching and unclenching his fists, feeling useless and indecisive and hating it. Another whimper, then a pained groan, then silence.

Carlos couldn’t stand it- he took the last step and tore the curtain back. Sitting on the bathtub floor was Cecil, his shirt torn all over and his eyes bloodshot with tears, all three of them.

Then Carlos blinked, and there were only two eyes, and he was wondering if he imagined it but not wondering for long, because he had an armful of sobbing, shaking Cecil.

Cecil refused to talk about it and began crying whenever Carlos tried to bring it up, and he ended up asleep in Carlos’s lap on the couch after two glasses of wine. When Carlos woke the next morning, having fallen asleep as well, stroking Cecil’s hair meditatively, the radio station host was gone, and he found his bathroom completely repaired, as if it had never happened. The only evidence was that the mirror remained covered.

From then on, Carlos was careful to cover all mirrors before Cecil came over.

**Author's Note:**

> May be more than a one-shot, if I get enough of a response.


End file.
